


Black Magic

by LadyKenz347



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Captivity, Dark Hermione, Dom Draco, F/M, Light Bondage, Smut, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 10:30:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18071714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKenz347/pseuds/LadyKenz347
Summary: "You are the kindest thingthat has ever happened to meeven if that is not how our tale is told.When everyone else told me I wasdestined to be a forgotten nymphthat nurtured flowers and turn meadows into gold,you saw that the ichor that resides in medemanded it's own throne.You showed mehow a love like ours can turneven the darkest, coldest realminto the happiest of homes."Persephone to Hades by Nikita Gill-





	1. ONE

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cara0511](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cara0511/gifts).



> For my sweet reader on her birthday! Thank you for reading all my rotten, awful, no good words and encouraging me constantly with your reviews! 
> 
> For Cara0511. Happiest of Birthdays to you!
> 
> Alpha love to PartyLines and MHCalamas and Beta credit, shouts, hugs and love to TheMourningMadam who saved this from being written half in the wrong tense and in some cases the wrong POV lol I really sent her a flaming pile of trash and it wouldn't exist if it weren't for her! 
> 
> Inspired by the poem 'Persephone to Hades" by Nikita Gill written in the summary.

 

 

* * *

 

**HERMIONE**

* * *

  


There’s a feeling deep in her that didn’t exist before; it’s not just awoken from a dormant sleep—it simply never was. It’s a feeling that’s desperate, tearing at her insides and hungry for more until it consumes her.

 

It’s an ebony ichor that spreads through her bones, and where she may have once shied away from it–she now embraces it.

 

She embraces it, because _he_ cherishes it. _He_ has taught her that she wasn’t made for fields of golden light – the darkness in her demands a throne. A throne only _he_ can provide.

 

* * *

  


Hermione choked on the damp air, the darkness her constant companion in this rotting stone cage.

 

Once, when she was a child, with her bushy head peering over the quilt-covered bed at her wheezing grandmother, she’d heard the adults muttering about _The Death Rattle._ That phrase echoed in her mind now as she struggled to draw in a breath.

 

The dank, stale air settled into her lungs as she sat rotting in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor. She’s finally ready—ready to pass to the other side. If she could only have her wand for a brief moment, she’d seal her fate for herself.   

 

There were a million happy memories she could’ve focused on to pass the time: memories of Hogsmeade and ice skating with her parents at Christmas, her first kiss or the the way she’d felt when she received the results of her O.W.L.s.  

 

Only one moment of time dragged through her mind repeatedly, flashing violently behind her lids as she clenched her eyes in an attempt to rid it from her mind.

 

There was a  very real part of her that knew, from the moment she stepped over the threshold, that she’d die here in Malfoy Manor. The three of them had never gotten into a situation they couldn’t work their way out of. But _this?_ Surrounded, unarmed and outnumbered? She had known this was the very end.

 

_Knowing it was the end and watching Harry seal that fate were two distinctly different things. Something in her cracked as she watched Harry give the nod, making the split-second decision to leave her in Bellatrix’s claws. She splintered further, an irreparable fissure settling deep in her chest,  when Dobby disapparated, her friends disappearing before her very eyes, taking any remaining hope along with them._

 

Bellatrix had dropped her from her clutches, her manic cackles echoing along the vaulted ceiling.

 

Time became meaningless, but she was sure it had been weeks since she’d seen sunlight. Dirty water appeared magically, but it was sporadic and no proper way of managing time. At times the water was accompanied by a hunk of stale bread, the only thing giving her any nourishment in the days that followed her capture.

 

Time passed slowly as Harry’s stiff nod to Dobby and Ron replayed over and over. In a mere blink of an eye, they had decided that their lives were more important than hers. It crippled her – consumed her while vengeful magic sparked in the cold air around her.

 

The thoughts gnawed at her, filling her with rage. Her bitter screams echoed through the stone dungeon, rattling around her and vibrating through her entire being.

 

When he came to her, she no longer felt like Hermione Granger. Something was twisted inside her and when her cold glare fell on Draco, something sparked in the air between them. His eyes were darker than she remembered, like a thundercloud still holding its lightening hostage.

 

His face tilted lazily to the side as he squatted over the piss-covered floor. “Where are Potter and Weasley?”

 

She gave an indignant snort and rested her head back on the stone. The chain around her neck shifted uncomfortably, rubbing her skin raw. “In case you didn’t realize, Malfoy, I’ve been a bit preoccupied. Your guess is as good as mine.”

 

His eyes flashed, tightening ever so slightly. “Do you have an idea where they may have gone?”

 

“Nope.” Her lips popped on the last syllable. She tried to maintain eye contact as his scrutinous glare studied her dirt-caked face. When he brought his finger up to push a matted curl off her face, she flinched away, flashing a brief moment of weakness.

 

Draco yanked his hand back and drew his wand, swirling it briefly in the air and conjuring a small bowl and cup. The smell of thick stew made Hermione’s mouth water and she gulped in anticipation.

 

“Try to think of where they may have gone.” His chin lifted slightly, a hard edge to his jaw. His fingers found the tip of her chin and lifted her gaze to his, his eyes boring into hers. “I’ll be back next week.”

 

He left the food, and as her shaking fingers reached out for it, a sickening fear coursed through her. The irrational part of her screamed that it wasn’t real, even as she took a bite. Relieved to feel it slide down her throat, she devoured the stew until she felt ill.

 

_A week._

 

It must have been a month since she’d seen him last. Every muscle in her body was weak and the amount of time she spent conscious versus unconscious was remarkably weighted in the former. Her cough had gotten worse— unyielding though she never expelled anything from her lungs. She’d also contracted a fever, her eyes bloodshot and her body shaking as a cold sweat covered her skin.

 

When he returned next, she was curled in on herself, clutching her knees to her chest and hacking until blood dripped from her lips.

 

He knelt next to her, placing a cool palm to her forehead. Hermione leaned into his touch as he breathed a disappointed sigh. After he left, the darkness took her once more and her mind recreated the resigned twist of Ron’s mouth as he agreed to leave her behind.

* * *

 

 

Hermione woke to hands working on the thick collar around her neck. When the weight was finally lifted, she gasped, her hands coming up to hover over the wounded skin.

 

Strong arms slid under her broken form and the chills rocking through her body were enough to make her lean into the stranger, seeking the warmth that radiated from his chest.

 

Murmured voices surrounded her during the long walk. She attempted to pry her eyes open—to make sense of the whirling environment—but they flickered closed with fatigue.

 

She was prepared to be dragged into a room full of Death Eaters, her voice silenced forever as a jet of vibrant green light ended her life. Instead, she was surprised when she felt the comfort of a soft mattress below her body, a feathered pillow cradling her wounded throat.

 

“Drink this.” Without opening her eyes, she recognised his voice and felt the cool taste of peppermint glide over her tongue.

 

Pepperup Potion coursed through her and her eyes flickered open, landing on the worried brow of Draco Malfoy.

 

“Water,” she begged, her vocal chords rubbing painfully against each other. She pushed up unto her elbows as water trickled down her throat.

 

“Not too much,” he chastised, pulling the glass from her lips as she sputtered and water spilled from the corners of her mouth. “You’ll get sick.”

 

Hermione fell against the mattress, chest heaving as she stared up at him. _A wolf in sheep’s clothing_ , she thought to herself. “What’re you doing?” she panted, the water still soothing her swollen throat.

 

“I’m going to get you cleaned up and hopefully break your fever.” He pushed another vial to her cracked lips, this one tasted like black licorice and she winced as she swallowed.

 

Hot tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and a broken, painful sob tore it’s way from her chest. “Why won’t you just let me die?”

 

“It was a very plausible course of action.” He smirked mirthlessly down at her. “I convinced the Dark Lord you were far more valuable alive then dead. So, he gave you to me.”

 

Her eyes shot open, wide and furious. “ _Gave_ me to you? I’m not property,” she hissed.

 

“Well, you were almost a corpse. So property seems like a step up, to me.” Draco retrieved his wand and pointed it at her chest. A flutter of panic seized her before she heard him mutter _Diffindo._ She felt her crusted, dirty clothes fall apart and her arms came up to stop them as his spell exposed her. “Oh, stop your flustering, Granger. You’re disgusting and you’re not going to be wearing these nasty things ever again.”

 

A hot blush joined her dwindling fever as he pushed the torn fabric from her body and lifted her into his arms again. She wrapped her arms across her exposed breasts as he walked them into a spacious bathroom where a large clawfoot tub sat in the center of the space, filled with steaming water. With a gentler countenance than she had imagined Draco Malfoy could be capable of, he placed her feet in the water and helped her to sit. She winced as the hot suds enveloped her.

 

“Sit back,” he commanded, shrugging his black suit jacket from his shoulders. His long fingers slid silver cufflinks from his wrists and he stared at her with dark, hooded eyes as he rolled his sleeves up his forearms. She couldn’t understand his lack of cruelty, the near-kindness he displayed.

 

The energy and will to fight had left her  and the simple bath felt… Hell, it felt better than anything she’d ever experienced. That is, until she leaned back to rest against the side of the tub. The water licked at the raw flesh where her collar had adorned her neck and she hissed, rising up again.

 

He hummed his displeasure and drew his wand, summoning another vial from the adjacent room. “Dittany,” he mumbled, dripping the potion along her wound.

 

She gasped as relief trickled over her skin, unaware of how much harm the collar had caused until it was healed. She eased back against the porcelain, sinking until the water lapped at her collarbone and she felt tears stain her cheeks again. She couldn’t bare to open her eyes to look at him, but she could hear him as he perched on the side of the tub, and poured soap into his palm.

 

Her voice cracked with the attempt to hide her tears. “I can wash myself.”

 

“You could,” he shrugged and his long fingers pushed into her dirty, matted curls. His nails scratched at her scalp and pulled lightly on the tendrils as a floral, musky scent washed over her.

 

The shameful tears were unceasing as the pads of his thumbs pushed long lines of pressure behind her ears and the nape of her neck. A soft moan slipped past her lips as he poured cup after cup of hot water across her hair line, and her long curls went slack along her bony back.

 

“You’re too skinny,” he chastised as his bare hands slid over her skin, the dirt disappearing under his soapy touch. His palms glided over her breasts and she stiffened, waiting for him to abuse her  – but he was clinical as he cleaned her. Gently, he massaged and cleared away the last month from her body.

 

“It’s not intentional,” she said, her lip curling.

 

His eyes flashed dangerously to hers. “You’re to get some sleep,” he instructed, his tone clipped. “And I’d think about the whereabouts of your friends, if I were you.”

 

He pulled the stopper from the bottom of the water and stood, grabbing his jacket and pausing at the door. “I’ll have clothes delivered later. There’s a robe in the closet.”

 

The door swung closed and she watched as the dirty water drained from the massive tub, a grimy ring left around the previous waterline. She shivered in the wake of the warm water, hugging her legs to her chest and thinking about how in the hell she’d wound up naked in the bath at Malfoy Manor.

 

A chill crept over her skin as she realised how desperately she missed his touch. Had her throat not been so damaged, she might have yelled after him, begged him to stay and just rest next to her awhile.

 

She exited the tub and felt the impossibly soft plush of the monogrammed robe wrap over her shoulders. There could be worse things than being taken care of by Draco Malfoy.

  



	2. TWO

Tugging her wrists down, they caught on the silk bindings over her head as she tried to reach out for him. The fine hair on her belly prickled, the heat from his fingertips warming her skin moments before they touched. A single finger dragged down the lines of her long torso and hovered near her navel.

 

Hermione’s back arched up to meet him, lifting high to get more – to  _ feel  _ more _.  _

 

“Tell me.” His husky voice fell over her and as the pad of his finger dipped below the band of her knickers, an eager whimper escaped her lips. 

 

“There is darkness in me,” she recited in a whisper, angling her body towards his affections. Her eyelashes fluttered against the silk tie that covered her lids. 

 

“Who controls it?” Draco’s hand cupped against her mound, his middle digit placed just at her entrance without slipping in. 

 

“I do,” she breathed the confession into the air, pushing against him slightly. Everything in her begged to drive down onto his hand, but she knew better.  _ He _ said how much.  _ He _ said when. 

 

“Are you ready for tonight?”

 

“Yes,” she moaned as he entered her with a single finger, just slightly and not nearly enough. “I want to be with you.  _ Forever. _ ” 

 

He pushed further in and a throaty gasp slipped over her tongue with just his slender finger tickling the walls of her flesh. “Tell me again.” 

 

“I love you.” It’s a stark confession that once felt foreign, but now it’s a mantra. She said it over and over and over until he was happy. A second finger joined the first and he curled his fingers against the ribbed flesh of her walls. Her knees yanked up and were caught by the binds at the foot of the padded table.

 

“Again,”  he commanded and the pad of his thumb swiped over her clit until she nearly jumped off the table, the ties the only thing keeping her trapped under his touch. 

 

_ “I love you.”  _

 

He continued the relentless prods at her core, dragging her slick juice from inside her and relishing the way it slid down the creases of her arse.

 

“What do you want?” Draco’s voice was always cold –  _ clinical –  _ but she heard his voice catch as her breathing heightened. 

 

“I want  _ you, _ sir. Please.” 

 

A low rumble of a growl began in his chest and a hot blush crept over her body when his free hand tweaked her stiff nipple and, with a hard pinch, pulled on her peak. She released a soft yelp as his mouth crashed onto hers, his teeth cutting into her lips. Nearly undone as his fingers pumped wickedly into her,  she tested the strengths of her binds. Her heart quickened as she heard the pull of his belt and shuffle of the fabric, the table shifting as he released the binds at her feet to crawl between her legs. His palms gripped her knees and lifted them roughly as he settled against her. 

 

“They didn’t love you like I do,” he chorused, his prick poised at her entrance, his tip barely dipping between her folds. She ached for him, pulling the bindings above her head until they cut into her slender wrists.  His hands filled with her breasts and glided down to her hips, squeezing the flesh their painfully as she writhed beneath his touch.

 

He’s right, no one has ever loved her like this. No one ever worshipped or cared for her like he did. He asked for only one thing in return. Her love for him was desperate and wanton – fueled by Dark, saturated magic that feels like dangerous static whenever they were close. 

 

His hand glided from her waist and up through the valley of her breasts to rest lightly against her neck. His thumb slid along her jawline and lifted her face to meet his. “You’re mine, Granger.” 

 

His words were honey and she could feel her juices coating him as she shifted her hips to take even a centimeter more of him. 

 

_ “Please,”  _ she gasped as his fingers tightened around the tendons of her throat. 

 

“Say it,” he growled, his teeth running along the edge of her jaw and sucking greedily at her taut flesh. 

 

“I love you. I’m yours.” At that, he drove into her, her heels hitching on his hips as he pressed his face into her neck again. 

 

“Mine.” His fingers dragged down and pinched quickly at her nipple before sliding to her arse and filling his hands with her bum. His hips slapped against her thighs when he plunged into her again. 

 

He buried his face in her wild curls, their chests flush as he drilled into her deeply, snapping his hips until he hit that spot in her that incited madness. In a frenzy, her hips bucked to meet his.  

 

Her pink tongue darted out to drag along the curve of his ear, catching his lobe with her teeth. “Please, sir, let me see you.” Her efforts elicited a hiss as he lifted onto his elbow to rip the silk tie from her face. 

 

He laid his hard body into her, their noses bumping as they pant in unison. Her knee hitched higher to allow him deeper access as he slammed into her again and again. As her walls began to quicken around his cock, he growled and rose onto his knees. He brought her hips up to rest on his thighs and thrusts into her again. A loud, pleasured sob filled the air as his thumb slid along her clit. 

 

“You’re mine,” he choked out, fingers digging into her hip bones until she was sure bruises would littered her flesh tomorrow. 

 

As he empties and fills her repeatedly, her panting transformed to a breathy moan and a tight coil of heat settled deep her in belly. The pressure built up until finally-- _ finally _ \--the coil snaps and she is sent over the edge.  Pleasure shot down her limbs into her toes and her mouth fell open in ecstasy. A hot blush bloomed across her chest, and her walls tightened against him. His thighs shook and a single grunt escaped his lips as he sheathed himself fully inside her.  Draco thrusts into her once… twice more and she pulled the last of him into her. 

 

With an exhausted breath, he collapsed on top of her, their sweat soaked bodies sliding clumsily along each other as they fought to catch their breath. 

 

His lips captured hers, his tongue diving into her mouth and pressing firmly against hers. His  hand roamed up her body and his palm settled on the underside of her left forearm, still trapped over her head. He went soft inside of her, and she clenched the walls of her sex on him once more. His fingers traced an infinity sign over the thin skin of her arm. 

 

“Tonight,” he mumbled across her lips. 

 

“Tonight.” 

* * *

  
  


Standing outside the looming double doors, she waited for her nerves to take over; waited for the shakes to claim her limbs or a nest of butterflies to settle in her belly. Nothing came. 

 

She slid her hands down her satin ebony gown. Her shoulders and collarbone were exposed and a long cape trailed from the dropped shoulder. Draco stood off with his father, both dressed in sharp black suits, and her lover cradled his intricate silver mask within gloved hands. His eyes flickered to hers and a wicked smirk twisted his lips briefly, a ghost of a wink sent to where she patiently waited. 

 

Filling her lungs, she smiled back at him. Soon, she’d be his forever. 

 

Inside her there was  a hurricane of love and hate, coming up in violent waves that she couldn’t  separate. All of her emotions constantly threatened to bubble over and it made her fucking brilliant at casting Dark magic. Voldemort’s lips twitched in amusement the first time she casted a  _ Crucio _ , and pride coursed through her at the sight. 

 

“You’ve done well, pet,” Draco cooed in her ear as she inspected the tiny House Elf before her. 

 

The creature’s hands had been removed so he couldn’t wield his ancient magic and one eye was swollen shut. His body lay broken and he sucked in uneven breaths, causing a small tremor of doubt to rock Hermione.  Draco placed his hand on her hip. “Remember when he took them from you?  _ He  _ helped them leave without you.  _ Feel it,”  _ his hand burned into her skin through her thin shirt.  _ “Feel  _ all _ of it.” _

 

Visions of that night flashed behind her closed lids: Harry’s single nod; the snap of the elf’s fingers that carried them away and left her there. Rage bubbled in her chest as she trained her wand on Dobby’s tired, too-wide face again. Her lip curled up in an angry snarl and she muttered the words that had once seemed unfathomable to her, sending a jet of green light from the end of her wand. Something Black unfurled and purred in her chest.  As the room filled with surprised but pleased murmurs, she felt Draco’s lips at her temple. “I’m proud of you, pet.”

 

She rested into his embrace in the middle of the grand parlour, her eyes closing as the residual Dark magic settled into her bones. It felt like flying and crashing, like wild power and infinite sex that quaked through her. “How’s it feel?” he questioned with a rasping voice.

 

Her eyes flickered up, locking onto his dark grey irises and she smiled. “It feels incredible.” 

 

And finally, it was time. Time for her to join him. 

 

She watched with a proud tilt of her chin as Draco shook hands with his father, and then made his way to her side, fixing the ornate mask to his face and offering his arm to her. 

 

“Ready?”

 

“Ready,” she beamed. 

 

Lucius waved his wand over the large doors and they swung open grandly, so he could lead them into the garden. They twined through the rose bushes into a clearing where she imagined they would one day exchange their wedding vows. But not tonight. Tonight was about  _ her _ . 

 

In a large circle edging the clearing, dozens upon dozens of masked Death Eaters stood, each one indecipherable from the next. Her heart thudded loudly in her chest and her palms felt slick as she gripped Draco’s arm. 

 

Lucius took his place in the expansive circle and Draco led Hermione towards the center, depositing her there with a simple squeeze of her hand. “Tell me again,” he implored from behind his mask. 

 

“I love you,” she whispered and let his fingers slip from hers. 

 

The wait was excruciating, stretching on for far too long. All the while, the circle electrified with a dangerous energy. A plume of Black magic shot into the ground before her and she sucked in a harsh breath as the men and women around her fell to their knees. 

 

Hermione joined them, kneeling at the feet of the Dark Lord. Tainted air billowed from him and it washed over her like a weighted cloak. 

 

“My child,” he raised a gnarled, grey hand to her lips and she kissed it sweetly, her lips brushing his cool skin with reverence, and bowed her head. “You are the first of your kind. A brilliant torch in our dark and uncertain future. You are a symbol of hope to so many– that with perseverance and guidance, even a despicable Mudblood can rise to greatness under my generous and forgiving hand. What do you have to say for yourself, Mudblood?”

 

“I am eternally grateful, Master.” Her low voice magically magnified throughout the clearing and with a wave of his hand, hundreds of floating candles lit over their head. “I hope I can make you proud.”

 

“Stand, my daughter.” At his command, Hermione rose, her chin still tucked into her collarbone until his knuckle tilted her chin up to meet his slanted red gaze. “Do you know why my children wear masks?”

 

“So they are one single unit,” she answered, her voice clear and eyes glistening with adrenaline. 

 

“Yes. However each mask is like a wand, like a fingerprint. Unique only to its wearer, it magnifies the darkest depths of your soul and gives power to your darkest desires. I require your arm.” 

 

Hermione gulped as the fabric of her cape slipped over her bare arm and cold fingers wrapped around her bony wrist. With a curl of his wand tip, a burning, searing spell tore up her arm, dissolving the scar left there by Bellatrix and covering it with an inky, intricate tattoo. When Voldemort dropped his wand, she could feel his magic pulsing in her blood, darkening her hatred and twisting her insides until she felt breathless. 

 

With another wave of his wand, he conjured an ornate box and held it out to her. Her chocolate eyes flickered up to meet his crimson gaze for only a moment, as long as she could stand it and then her fingers pushed the latch of the box open, revealing a plain bronzed mask. 

 

She lifted it gingerly to her face, feeling it latch onto her skin and under her fingertips she could feel the metal swirl and pull into a design crafted just for her. 

 

Her jaw fell open, panting as Dark Magic surged through her body and she felt a hundred things at once. An intense pull towards Draco coincided with a sinful urge between her thighs and coupled with a seething, consuming hatred for her friends who left her to die and for her precious Order who abandoned her. All of it fluttered in her chest and up her throat and as her eyes shot open, peering through the darkened mask, she felt a wicked smile curl over her lips. 

 

“Go forth, daughter, leave destruction and chaos wherever you go. Let us celebrate.” As he raised his hands, the circle erupted in a chorus of applause. Draco swept her up in a crushing hug, pulling the mask from his face and grinning at her. When her feet touched down again, she peeled her mask off and stared in awe at the vines and flower buds etched into the bronze.

 

“It’s  _ mine,”  _ she whispered _ ,  _ her fingers tracing every inch of it. 

 

“ _ You’re  _ mine,” he purred into her ear and her laugh trilled through the gardens over the joyous voices of her new family. 

  
  



	3. THREE

* * *

 

**HARRY**

* * *

  
  


“Goddamnit,” Harry hissed, peering through his broken glasses as he fought the magical binds on his wrists. Ron lay unconscious next to him and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what went wrong. 

 

They had a plan, a bloody brilliant plan. Intel had reassured the Order that Hermione was still being held at Malfoy Manor. They’d stolen blueprints. They’d created a diversion that called a large number of Death Eaters to Wales and a small team – their  _ best _ team – was sent to get her out. It’d taken months, more months than Harry was comfortable with, but it had been imperative to do this properly. 

 

Leaving Hermione that day had haunted his every waking moment since.The look of defeat on her face as Dobby pulled them from the Manor had crushed him. The strategist in him knew that she had been moments from death. Bellatrix would have happily sliced her throat in front of them just to watch Harry suffer. But if they left? If they left, she’d become valuable to the Death Eaters, she’d have a purpose and they would have a reason to keep her alive. 

 

They left. They left and regrouped, formulated a plan to save her. Their plans had taken far too long, but as long as she was still alive, hope was far from lost. 

 

But the plan had failed somewhere – the moment they stormed the grounds of Malfoy Manor, a brilliant flash of magic splintered across the sky, stunning the dozen Order members simultaneously. A hundred masked Death Eaters filled the lawn and bound them one by one, cursing some of them for fun, killing others. Not Harry. No,  _ never _ Harry. Harry would be forced to watch his friends die until the lucky day that he was to meet Voldemort head on and greet death as an old friend. 

 

This was the second time they’d been trapped in this fucking parlour and the air felt decidedly similar-- hopelessness swirled thick around them as Harry knelt under a giant, pretentious chandelier. 

 

Giant doors swung open and two masked Death Eaters led a parade of others through the opulent double doors. The male had a silver mask, his hair and skin hidden by his robes and hood as he escorted a strangely familiar female into the room. Her hips swayed as her hand rested lightly on her partner’s forearm. 

 

Harry squinted through his shattered glasses, trying to make out what about her was so familiar. Maybe the tanned shade of her skin? Her hair? It was tucked neatly behind her head and her mask obstructed all other features. 

 

The rest of the Death Eaters created a wide circle around the remaining hostages. Harry, Tonks and Mad-Eye were the only ones still conscious, though the other two were bound with gags and Tonks fought violently against her constraints. 

 

“Who are you? Where’s Hermione?” Harry spat at their feet, his breath ravaged and desperate. 

 

The witch’s shoulders shook with a delicate giggle as her hand gripped her bronze mask and pulled it deftly from her face, her nearly-black eyes peering down her freckled cheeks at her one-time friend. 

 

“H-Hermione?” Harry stuttered, though he barely recognized her. It was something in her eyes, not only had the shade darkened, but there was a hard edge to them he’d never seen before. 

 

She nodded politely, her lips pursing in a tight scowl. “Hello, Harry. Pleasure to see you again.”  

 

“What did you do to her? You fucking animal!” Harry snarled, pulling hard at the metal cuffs on his hands. “I’ll  _ kill  _ you.” 

 

Her partner removed his mask with one hand, pushing his hood down with the other to reveal a shock of platinum hair and Harry sucked in an angry breath, losing control of his body as he fought to get to them. He was so close-- he could still save her. 

 

“It is with a deep displeasure that I announce that we are unable to touch you, Potter,” Draco drawled, with a bored wave of his hand. “The Dark Lord has commanded that not even a simple  _ Crucio  _ be cast on your cursed head, as he would like all the pleasure to himself.” 

 

“Fortunately,” Hermione chimed in, aiming her wand for Ron’s face and gesturing to the rest of the crowd to join her in selecting an Order member of their own. “He made no such orders with regards to the rest of you.” 

 

Harry’s eyes went wide with panic and he made his last attempt at a desperate plea. “Hermione, please. I don’t know what they’ve cast on you. I just don’t know. But I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, Hermione. You don’t have to do this.” His voice cracked as broken sobs echoed throughout the room. “We were coming back, we were always coming back.”

 

Hermione’s black glare caught Harry’s emerald eyes and they flashed dangerously as her lip pulled up, baring her teeth. “You never should have left,” she hissed and the room filled with the green magic as Killing Curse after Killing Curse found their targets. 

 

Harry fell to his side in anguish, his head resting on his best friend’s corpse as he wailed, tears and pain spilling onto the marble floors. He watched through hazy vision as Draco Malfoy wrapped his arms around his best friend, brushing his nose against her and kissing her passionately. It made him feel sick to witness,but there was nothing left in him to retch--he was empty. 

 

“You are the kindest thing that has ever happened to me, even if it’s not how our story is told,” Hermione whispered on the blond’s smirking lips. She grinned as she rested her forehead against his, and Harry watched in horror as Draco pulled her waist into his. “We should call the Dark Lord.”

 

“You do it, pet.” Draco’s cold silver gaze fell on Harry and he gave an amused smile at his long-time rival. “This was all your plan. You should be the one to call him.” 

 

Hermione’s eyes sparkled as she lifted her left arm and exposed her stained skin, a Dark Mark stark on her forearm. She lifted her wand and with a final wicked smirk at Harry, stabbed her wand into her flesh. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would love to know your thoughts on this little dark short story :) Thanks for reading and Happy Birthday, Cara!
> 
> She requested dom!Draco, dark!Hermione and some smut and heartache. Hope it didn't disappoint!
> 
> Thank you again to my wonderful Alpha's and Betas: Partylines, MHCalamas and TheMourningMadam. Their works are all far superior to mine and you should rush to their pages and shower them in kudos/favorites/reviews. 
> 
> Until next time, 
> 
> LK


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